


I Remember Her

by Unicorn24601



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cute, Cutting, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Happy, Happy Ending, I promise, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Non-Graphic Violence, Self-Harm, i swear it isn't that sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 22:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18678325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicorn24601/pseuds/Unicorn24601
Summary: I remember her. Every moment we had together (and we had so many). I remember the love we shared and the pain we went through and how we grew together.This is a short story about me remembering her and all the things we went through together.





	I Remember Her

The first time I saw her smile, she was walking through the door of the restaurant we agreed to meet at. She had stopped at the door to pick up a snail off the sidewalk and set it in the grass. That was the thing about her. She had no qualms about touching the creepy crawlers of the earth.

One time there was a spider walking across the covers of our bed, making me scream at her to come to get it. She ran in the room, saw me holding a shoe and shaking, and just laughed. Told me off for scaring him. The audacity of her.

But then, she picked it up in her hand and headed towards the front door to let him out. Talking to the spider about how he was ‘only minding his business’ and how people ‘overreact about one small creature’.

 

The first time I got to hear her laugh, the real deep belly laugh that I always loved, was when I told this really terrible joke about babies and why they look the way they do. The joke wasn’t that funny, but I had been holding her nephew at the time. And after the punchline, he just so happened to puke all over my favorite shirt and then start crying, as if I had been the one to puke on him. She laughed so hard she ran out of breath and had tears streaming down her face.

 

The first time she told me she loved me was a week after our six month anniversary. We were in the middle of a fight. I can’t remember for the sake of me what the fight was about, now. Something stupid, I’m sure. She was so red-faced, fist balled and steaming from the ears. Said something about how she couldn’t believe we had to have this fight. I told her it wasn’t like it mattered, cause she clearly didn’t care about me or my feelings. But then she yelled, “Of course I do, you imbecile. I’m in love with you.”

She froze. I swear to god, I thought she was stone for a second. But she came out of it kinda dazed, smiled at me real soft, and repeated it.

 

I remember the first time she told me about her childhood. How she shook with every sentence and could barely get the words out in a whisper. I remember how terrified she looked that the past would come back to haunt her. I remember how scared she looked that her nightmares would creep out of the closet, telling me how her worst nightmares were the people who were supposed to love and care for her.

I remember thinking, “How could something so beautiful come from something so ugly?”

 

The first time I found the cuts on her body, I cried. Not in front of her, not even in the same room. I cried in the guest bathroom, where she wouldn’t hear me or see my tears. I cried after talking for an hour with her. She had fallen asleep already, but the conversation kept running through my head. How I had to convince her they were beautiful just like her. How I had to ask why she did it, how I could help. I cried for her because she couldn’t cry for herself. Not yet.

 

I remember the first time I realized I was in love with her, too. We were watching a movie on Netflix and it was almost midnight. She was resting in my lap, and I was absent-mindedly running my hands through her hair. I shifted my hands to her arms, wrapped around my waist. I thought she was asleep, so I started rubbing her wrists to check for new scars. But she wasn’t asleep, and she whispered to me. She was so quiet, I almost couldn’t hear her.

“You gave me the extra strength to stop. No more scars.”

I looked down at her chocolate eyes, heavy-lidded and nearly closed in sleep. And I knew at that moment, I loved her more than I could breathe.

 

I remember the day we broke up.

She was so angry with me. She couldn’t even look at me, but that was all I wanted. I just wanted her to look at me. I wanted her eyes on me, just like every other time when she laughed or rolled over into my arms. But she didn’t. And then she left.

And then I couldn’t breathe without her.

 

And I remember when she came back to me.

Her mother had died. She was sobbing so hard, she had collapsed on my doorstep.

Later, I asked her how she could be so sad about losing someone who treated her so badly. She told me that, without her, she would have never become who she was now. She would have never learned her strength. And, she would have never met me.

I stayed up all night with her, drinking hot chocolate and cuddled under a blanket. I told her my secrets, that way we were even and she couldn’t feel bad about me knowing hers. In the morning I made pancakes and bandaged her wrists. 

We still celebrate that date every year. Not for her mother. I couldn’t care less about that abusive asshole. No, we celebrate it for her recovery. We celebrate it because that was the last time she had every cut herself on purpose, and the last time I had to bandage her self inflicted wounds.

 

The first time we talked about our future, we were sitting at a Starbucks. She was drinking a latte and had made fun of me about drinking a mocha with extra caramel and extra whipped cream. She told me, “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to watch you drink that for the rest of my life.” 

‘The rest of your life?’ I had asked her. She smiled, and we talked for hours. Did we want kids? Would we adopt? Would we get married? Who would come? Where would we live? How would our lives fit together?

 

I remember when I told her why I had trust issues. Why I had intimacy issues. I had never told anyone something so deep about me before. But, there is no one else I could have imagined telling.

We cried together that time. Cried about my past and the former me who didn’t know the difference between a healthy relationship and a toxic one. We ate ice cream together. Chocolate for me and Triple Fudge Brownie for her. (‘How dare you eat such basic ice cream. Have some zest in life!’ she had complained.) And we talked. We talked until we had nothing left to say. We talked until we knew each other deeply. We talked until we knew each other’s souls. We talked until I knew we could never leave each other again.

 

And, I remember when I asked her to marry me. I had figured out her ring size and subtly (or so I thought) figured out how she wanted me to propose. It turns out, all she wanted was Champagne and a picnic at sunset. So, that’s what I gave her.

Later, she told me she knew what was coming 3 months before it happened. Apparently, I’m not a very good liar.

And now… Now I stand here. After everything that we had been through, after all the pain and all the crying. After all the joy and all the laughter. After the love and happiness that we spread together. After all the blankets and movies and mugs of hot cocoa. After everything we have been through.

I stand here and I get to look at her. Standing in white, just as beautiful as the day I first met her. I never told you about that, did I? Well, maybe that is I’ll keep just to myself.

I stand here, blessed to be holding her hand, now with a ring on both our fingers. Blessed that, from this day forward, I am promised to wake up to her every morning. I am promised to her love and devotion. I am promised to her pain, yes, but also to her pleasure. I am promised to her laughter and puns. I am promised to her joy and madness. I am promised to all the bugs she will carry outside and all the baby vomit of the future. I am promised to her, and she is promised to me.

We stand here, before all of you, with a new title in our lives.

Wife and Wife.

And I am the luckiest girl in the world.

I remember her, every moment, and I will continue to from now until forever.


End file.
